


The Professional

by YumKiwiDelicious



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, drug dealer Valentine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumKiwiDelicious/pseuds/YumKiwiDelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You told me that if I could adapt I could transform."</p>
<p>"Yes, but I didn't bloody well think you'd want to transform into me!"</p>
<p>AU based off the movie "Leon: The Professional"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Long Day

It had been a long day. A long month really, Harry had to correct his inner thoughts as he approached the Kingsman tailor shop front. A mission in Siberia had required the whole of his attention for the last several weeks and he could not recall a time where he had been more relieved to be home on British soil. It had not been an especially arduous job; more time consuming than anything. The target had a fair bit of necessary information and was not willing to give it up easily. Harry had had to infiltrate the man's inner workings through acquaintances and partners and the like before finally getting him alone. Luckily, it had not been one of the cases that ended with blood on his suit since at the sight of a pistol aimed at his face, the man had been quick to give up all the intelligence he had which, if left in his hands, could have lead to a truly abysmal _year_ for Galahad _and_ Siberia.

Yes, he was quite delighted to be home, but as he entered the shop and was was greeted by Merlin looking even more somber than usual, he couldn't help feeling his homecoming was not well timed. Usually a kindly old gentlemen by the name of Andrew stood in that particular spot, ready to fit and tailor anyone that came in as well as to inform knights where they were needed. Instead today the bald, bespectacled man approached, manila file already outstretched towards the returning agent.

“Lancelot's dead.”

The news sent Harry's heart into his stomach, not only because it had been seventeen years since they lost an agent, but also because he had grown quite fond of the newest Lancelot in that time. He took the file as Merlin fell into step beside him, the two men heading towards the backdoor that lead to the 'dining room'. During the very short walk, Harry skimmed through the paperwork from Lancelot's last, failed mission.

“He was taken out by someone who knew he was working for an agency. Targeted.” Merlin pushed open the dining room door, stepping aside to let Harry pass through first, nose still buried in the file.

“How do you know?”

“Because we have reports of agents from the CIA, KGB, NDS*, _and_ Korea all turning up dead.” Harry looked up from the last picture Lancelot's glasses had registered to find Arthur sitting at the head of the table, the tell-tale tumbler of scotch already ready for them. “Someone's picking off special agents.”

“But who?” Harry asked, taking his seat at Chester King's literal right hand as Merlin exited with a short nod, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Who knows?” Arthur sighed, aged face creased with worry. He was getting old. “Glasses.” Galahad took his special frames from his inner pocket and dawned them, the other knights coming into digital view, all seated at the table from around the world. Lancelot's empty chair glared at them all. “It's been seventeen years since we've had to open this bottle, and I suppose that's something to be grateful for. Lancelot was a gentlemen through and through; a true Kingsman. He will be missed.” They each and all inclined their heads respectively before drinking from their crystal glasses.

“He'll need to be replaced,” Gawain stated matter-of-factly, looking around the table to make sure his fellows knights nodded, however reluctantly, in agreement.

“He's not even cold in the ground,” Galahad huffed, frankly appalled at how quickly the other Kingsmen were prepared to tip a glass and move on. A comrade had fallen, and call him old fashioned, but Harry felt that should mean something more than the immediate need of a replacement.

“He's not in the ground at all,” Arthur cut in before a quarrel could erupt, “We're having trouble extraditing his body from the location of his last mission. And I'll be damned if we start looking at replacements before he gets a proper burial.” All but Harry looked down shamefully at this. “Besides,” here the head of their agency turned to his most trusted agent, “Galahad needs a rest.”

“Arthur, I'm-”

“Just returning from a month long mission,” Arthur interrupted, a proud but still stern look coming to his eyes. “I only regret it could not be to your regular accommodations.”

Harry frowned, recalling how his comfortable and well furnished flat had been the target of a terrorist with a grudge. He had of course escaped the attack unscathed, but he could not say the same for his home. Immeasurable damage to the foundation and pipe system. There was no telling how long it would take to repair, only because it had to seem to the outside world, that it was being fixed on a tailor's income. He had been staying in a less hospitable setting ever since. Tailor's income and all.

“It's quite alright.”

“Very well,” Arthur went on, drawing the meeting to a close. “Galahad is officially on leave for the next week. No one is to look into recruits for Lancelot's position until his body's returned to his family; I do, however, want someone to look into who's killing all these agents.”

“Yes, Arthur,” they all chimed, the sit-down officially over as one by one they removed their glasses. At last it was just Harry and Chester actually sitting in the room again. The older man looked at his best agent. “Go home, Harry,” he said lightly, “Get some rest.”

Buttoning his suit jacket as he stood, Harry gave a respectful nod of the head. “Arthur.”

 

* * *

  
  


It had been a long day. A long life really, Eggsy Unwin had to correct his inner thoughts as he sat on the balcony outside the shitty flat he shared with his mother, half-sister, step-father and as of late said step-father's numb-skull lackey. It was late in the day at this point, and Eggsy was smoking a fag he'd nicked from Dean's nightstand. He figured the man should be thanking him, the amount he smoked no doubt rushing him to death faster than any of the shady activities he got up to when Michelle wasn't about.

Eggsy hated Dean. Had hated him ever since his mum had met him and even more so when they decided to shack up and worse, get married. The man was complete shite in Eggsy's opinion, and though he only had faint memories of his late biological father, he deduced his mother had taken a serious step down in partners. The only good thing Dean had ever given him was his baby sister, Abigail. She was honestly the only reason Eggsy bothered to stay around anymore because if he didn't look out for her no one would. He had honestly been shocked this morning when his mum had told him she was taking the little girl to the park to 'get some fresh air'.

Her plans made more sense when a few minutes after their departure, a car pulled up and two people stepped out. One was a black man dressed in a fine suit but with a baseball cap sitting crookedly on his head. He'd winked at Eggsy, large teeth flashing as he approached and knocked on their door. The woman with him was drop dead gorgeous but clearly had a stick up her arse since when Eggsy flew a wink her way she rolled her large brown eyes, paying him no heed. Her floor length dress dragged over his finger tips as she followed the black man through the door Dean had practically ripped off its hinges to let them in. He'd thrown Eggsy a glare, silently warning his to stay outside and not draw attention to himself before slamming the door shut again.

That had been hours ago though, and the two mystery people still hadn't exited the flat. The last Unwin had gotten tired of waiting after only twenty minutes, but with nowhere extremely pressing to go he continued to sit. It pissed him off that he couldn't go and have a sit in his own place, but the bruise quickly blackening on his temple from this morning gave proof to just how much Dean hated it when he didn't listen. The area hurt now; it was hot like someone was holding an iron there. Eggsy ignored it in favor of the fag and a bit of fresh air of his own.

He was pulled from his frankly depressing thoughts as he noticed someone coming up the walkway. Tipping the rim of his hat back, he saw it was the posh man that had moved in to the flat that shared a wall with them a few months ago. He'd only bothered to introduce himself once, and then had kept well too himself anytime there after. Eggsy found it only a little odd since he seemed like a well-to-do sort of bloke and he knew he could hear the trouble that went on next door through the thin wall. If he had any suspicions of abuse, he kept them quiet; at least, no police had come pounding on the door to take the children away yet.

Despite what could be considered his cold indifference to his young neighbor's plight, Eggsy always found himself trying to turn the man's head. He was no stranger to luring people in and he knew everyone loved a bit of rough which was exactly what he was. As the man, Harry, approached now, Eggsy did a half-assed job of concealing his cigarette and leaned back on his palms, torso stretched out enough that a slice of skin peeked out at the bottom of his shirt.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, letting his eyes follow the departing taxi that had dropped his neighbor off rather than his neighbor's backside as he passed.

“Hello.” The man's tone was polite yet distant. Formal yet brisk. Eggsy imagined making it sound not quite so cold, but rather hot and bothered. He imagined the man panting wantonly and couldn't let him go that easily.

“You've been gone a while.”

It was true, Eggsy hadn't seen the guy around in weeks when right after moving in he had seen him leave the place for a jog each morning. That was when he had really taken an interest because not many men of whatever his age was tended to keep themselves so fit. After only a few days of not seeing him, Eggsy deduced he was either dead or on vacation somewhere. He'd been tempted to brake into his flat, gather some intelligence on him, but then decided that would be cheating and he wanted to get Harry Hart into bed the good old fashioned way.

“I had a business trip,” the older man informed, surprisingly having stopped on his way to his door to converse.

“What's your business?”

“I'm a tailor.”

“Lot of business trips in that line of work is there?” He tilted his head, teeth bared in a small grin. He was of course attempting to be coy but not in an intimidating fashion. Make it seem like you were trying to hard and you'd never get a bloke to bed. “It take you on long trips often?”

His flirtations were wasted, however, since Harry appeared to have just noticed something very interesting on his face. As he squinted at the younger man, Eggsy realized he was studying his bruise and turned away, jaw flexing with concealed embarrassment.

“What happened to your face?”

Eggsy frowned at the man because he knew perfectly well what had happened. He wasn't trying to come off as some punk kid though and so decided to play into the roll all adults wanted kids to play into in this situation. At least that's what he told himself.

“Took a bit of a tumble,” he lied, retrieving the fag from it's poor excuse for a hiding place near his thigh to take a drag. Harry still lingered, half turned towards his door and half turned towards his neighbor.

“Why did you try to hide the cigarette?”

Eggsy squinted up at the man, finding it a kind of strange question. He had after all just poorly covered up for the fact that his caregiver was abusing him. When the gentleman's face gave nothing away he shrugged, flicking ash out into the open air.

“I've got enough problems without Dean bein' up my arse for pilferin' cigs from him.”

The man in the perfectly pressed suit nodded, taking his leave then and leaving Eggsy staring after him. When the blue door to his flat closed, the one to Eggsy's opened and he rushed to toss the cigarette down into the yards below. The woman from earlier stepped out, the no doubt break-neck high heels she was wearing under her dress clicking loudly on the concrete. Dean followed, face looking strained and haggered, not at all the tough persona he put on when he was knocking Eggsy around. The black man came last, head tilted low and murmuring as he appeared to be on a phone call. He walked a little ways up the path while the woman rested a hand on Dean's collar. He flinched.

“Listen,” she began, voice cool and calculated, “All we're saying is that when we gave you the product, it tested 100% pure.” Her voice was thick, accented. “Now, picking it up, it tests 90% pure. So it's clear to us that somewhere between then and now, a cut was taken.”

“Gazelle, I would never never _never_ , take a cut,” Dean insisted, not noticing Eggsy hunched over by the railing trying to remain as small as possible, “I'm a holder, I just hold the dope! I don't look at it, smell it, or even touch it!”

Eggsy knew that to be total bullshit and apparently so did this Gazelle because she sighed woefully, pouting at the sweating man before her. Then with a swish of her hips she was approaching the black man, ignoring Dean's tiny calls of protest. She interrupted his phone call, whispering into his ear with the ease and familiarity of someone that may or may not have seen the guy naked. As he turned his large, lens covered eyes to Dean, Eggsy didn't see the appeal.

“Dean,” he said, arms spread wide once he'd stashed his cell away and was approaching the other man, “I know I can trust you, you've been with me for years!” Eggsy noticed his heavy lisp as he threw an arm over Dean's shoulder. The mustachioed man quaked under it. “I'm not saying you cut the dope.” The good-natuted, friendly air left his voice and the smile faded. “But you know who did. And you're gonna have their name for me by noon tomorrow.” Here he turned to the woman, wordlessly looping her in to the conversation. “Sharp.”

“Y-Yes,Valentine,” he stammered, a mere puddle of the man Eggsy knew, “Whatever you say.”

“Good!” With that final word, the man departed, the woman clicking after him. Eggsy watched them go wondering what kind of dope dealer had so much muscle they could make Dean practically shit his pants in fear. And if they were hiring.

“What're you doin' out here?” Dean's question was punctuated by a kick to his step-son's hip. The young man flinched, scooting away as he glared up at him.

“You wouldn't let me in the fuckin' flat.”

“Yeah?” Dean smacked him across the face. “Well, get in there now and fuckin' clean up before your mum and sister get home! Go!” A few more swats and kicks were all it took to get Eggsy moving. “And quit smokin' my fuckin' cigarettes ya fuckin' twat!”

Eggsy huffed, shoulders hunched up high as he stomped into their shite flat, wondering if Harry had heard their little spat through his blue door.

  
  


***NDS – National Directorate of Security (Afghani secret service)**

 


	2. Noon Sharp

“You've been watchin' this piss all mornin',” Eggsy huffed, legs splayed out in front of him where he sat hunched over his breakfast cereal. It wasn't even noon and the day had already gone tits up in their mix-matched household. As if Dean wasn't bad enough, he had to keep his most well trained dog close at hand so that by this point the man was indefinitely kipping on their couch, snarling at Eggsy whenever he passed. The nickname Rottweiler really did suit him.

“Yeah, well it's bloody well my turn with the telly innit?” He huffed now, tilted back on one leg of his chair a few feet away, arms crossed as he watched some trash show or another. Eggsy gave it no mind, but he was seriously beginning to get annoyed.

“I don't even know why you think you get a fuckin' turn, you don't even really live here.” The older boy's reply was simply a middle finger raised over his shoulder.

Eggsy scowled, tapping his foot in an agitated tempo on the ground, still clad in the sweatpants and undershirt he had slept in. It was during this tapping that his eyes swept the floor and came to rest on the one chair leg his unwelcome guest was so precariously balanced on. Glancing up only once to make sure the moron's attention was still on the television, he stretched his legs out from under the table and then with one swift kick, sent old Rotty tumbling to the floor. Immediately he was up.

“You little shit!”

Eggsy laughed, loving the rush he got from torturing someone he couldn't stand, and dodged around their poorly placed furniture, easily covering the length of the living room in seconds. “He's gonna hit me!” he laughed, the furious young man right on his heels. “Mum, he's gonna-!” He had barged into his mother's bedroom without knocking and for his foolishness received a perfect view of her, arse in air while Dean plowed her from behind. “Ah fuck...”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Caught up in the absolutely mortified look his half naked mum was sending him, Eggsy didn't noticed as Dean picked up a discarded beer bottle from the nightstand. It shattering on the door frame right beside his face was the only thing that knocked him from his horrified trance and got him to back out of the room, Rottweiler having sense enough to grab the handle and slam the door shut again. Once they were alone in the hall, Eggsy found himself up against the wall with a fist smashing across his face. Another punch was aimed at his gut before Rotty figured himself done.

“Fuckin' twat,” he grumbled, stomping back towards the front part of the flat as Eggsy slid down the wall, nose bleeding and stomach sore. All the ruckus had started Abigail crying and as he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, Eggsy wondered how long someone could live like this.

“SOMEONE SHUT THAT FUCKIN' KID UP!” Dean screamed from behind the closed door.

“Make Eggsy watch her!”

The bloodied youth huffed because of course Abby was all his responsibility, no one else in this place gave enough of a shit. But at that moment he couldn't stand to be there one second longer. So ignoring the child's cries and the adults' hollers to quiet the child, Eggsy went to his room and dressed in a hurry. Jeans, polo, jacket and hat finished off with the medal that had been awarded to his father after death. He was so out of here.

“Where the fuck you goin'?”

“Out,” was his smart reply as he finally took a knee by his sister's cradle. Abby was more his child than anyone's and it really did pain him to see the tiny brunette in such distress. The toddler was stood up on her bedding, red in the face from all her tears and Eggsy quickly noted that her binky had fallen through the bars and retrieved it. He popped it back into her down-turned mouth after giving it a quick brush off. She quieted immediately and her brother beamed at her. “Is that better?”

“If you're goin' out,” Rottweiler continued as Eggsy straightened and headed towards the door, “Why don't you be useful and pick up some fuckin' food.”

“Piss off,” Eggsy sighed, ignoring all manner of profanity that was aimed at his back on his exit.

He had no immediate idea of where to go and so just leaned on the railing outside, mind heavy and heart sick. Reaching up, he was glad to find his nose was not in an extreme amount of pain and therefore was not broken. Unfortunately it was still bleeding and he'd forgotten to grab any tissues or towels on his way out. He cursed, wiping the metallic smelling liquid onto his hands every few moments and cursing Rotty to kingdom come.

He was there for not long at all when a picture that was quickly becoming one of his favorites presented itself for viewing. It was Harry jogging up the sidewalk, back from his morning run. While usually the posh tailor was decked out in suits Eggsy imagined he'd made himself, when he ran he went simply in a gray t-shirt and jogger pants, his trainers pristine and white despite their daily use. Upside down triangles decorated the front and back of today's shirt, letting Eggsy know his neighbor had been working up a sweat. And as Harry took the steps up towards their level two at a time, the young man imagined other ways he could work the gent into a sweat.

“Morning,” Harry greeted, seemingly on impulse to spotting another human being in his peripherals. His breathing was only slightly labored and his eyes were cast down. Eggsy found he liked him this way. He leaned back on the railing, subconsciously trying to draw attention to his downstairs area.

“Alright.”

Harry glanced up in passing and did a double take. Eggsy remembered too late blood was quickly crusting under his nosed and turned away, shoulders rigid. Harry lingered just as he had the day before. Eggsy could tell because he could sense his presence behind him. Also because he hadn't heard his door open. Slowly and silently, a small white cloth entered his line of site and he looked down to see that the man had manifested a handkerchief and was now offering it to him. He took it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, deciding to keep his questions as to why a jogger would carry a hanky to himself. He reasoned it seemed like a very Harry thing to do anyway. He wiped up the blood on his nose, lip and chin, crumbling the bit of fabric some when he attempted to scrub it off his hands. When he offered it back, the older man simply raised a hand to wave it off, his hair looking only slightly damp and less perfect than it did usually as he shook his head.

“Keep it.”

Eggsy figured the silence that fell between them then probably felt awkward for his neighbor but he actually found it quite nice. It was a whole change of pace to have someone there that didn't make a spectacle of their presence. Still, he wanted to lighten the mood. For Harry. “Is life always this hard?” he tried to joke, stuffing the precious handkerchief into his jacket pocket. “Or's it just when you're startin' out.”

Harry seemed to look thoughtful then and his whole posture changed. Where before he stood like you'd expect someone just coming back from a hog to stand, now he stood like the suited man Eggsy had come to admire from afar. “I suspect,” he began slowly, as if choosing his words only after a thorough examination, “That for some people...it's always this hard.”

It had not been the answer Eggsy was expecting and it clearly was not the one Harry had wanted to give as he inclined his head politely and moved to enter his flat. Eggsy floundered, not wanting the man to exit his day like this, but instead wanting him to have a reason to enter it later. His mind raced before he was struck with the good fortune of an idea. And none too soon as Harry had just opened his front door.

“Hey,” he called out. The man turned only slightly, head barely inched in Eggsy's direction but he could tell from the way he had paused his movements and hovered over his threshold that he had his full attention. “I gotta go pick up some food from the grocery. Getcha anythin'?”

They were stuck staring at each other and Eggsy guessed the tailor had seen right through him and yet was choosing to indulge him anyway. He liked that.

“I suppose...some milk would be nice,” he conceded, nodding his head slowly as if to convince himself that, yes, he did need milk. “If you don't mind.”

“Sure thing.” With a uncharacteristic grin on his face and a purposeful pep to his step, Eggsy was off without a single glance back at his neighbor. Checking his watch he saw it was just reaching 11:30AM. He'd be back with Harry's milk no later than noon sharp.

 

* * *

  
  


Harry stepped out of the shower, towel making its way securely around his waist. The tiny bathroom was steamy and he sighed heavily with a glance at Mr. Pickles positioned above the toilet. Staying in such a confined lavatory much longer would soon result in the poor devil getting mildew in his coat and that wasn't something the agent wanted to put up with. So slicking his hair back, he grabbed the taxidermy terrier under his arm and exited into his tiny but tidy living room.

In his actual house, there had been enough space and ventilation in the bathroom that his old friend was not in any danger of damage. Here, however, it seemed the only completely clean place that was also safe from the possible threat of pests was the window sill, and Harry could just imagine how the neighbors would react to that. Still he figured if he moved the dog periodically throughout the day, some may just assume it to be alive and constantly changing its mind about whether or not he actually wanted to sunbathe. He reasoned it seemed like a very Mr. Pickles thing to do anyway.

As he approached the window, he took a walk by the clock and checked the time. Noon sharp. The neighbor boy, the name of whom he had yet to catch, should be returning any minute now. He couldn't say exactly what had prompted him to request milk, but he guessed it had something to do with the loneliness he saw lurking in the rough thing's eyes. A loneliness he himself was quite familiar with and hated to be reminded of. Pity was what had driven him to request milk and he knew pity was a slippery slope to sympathy and who knew what the boy could get out of him with that playing on his side.

He had devoted himself to casting the blue eyed, solemn faced youth out of mind just as he pulled back the curtain and spotted someone at the door. At the next door rather, and it was in fact some _ones_ , plural. It was the black man that had visited his neighbors the day before, accompanied by the same severe looking woman, another black dress totally covering her legs. Harry had spotted them yesterday only because he had peaked out the window when he heard Dean accosting his son on the terrace. At the same time, the odd pair had just been reaching the street and Harry had wondered what about them had put his red faced neighbor in an even worse mood than usual.

The two were talking lowly in front of the other blue door now and Harry decided now was not the best time to set out Mr. Pickles. He was just stepping away from the window, not at all keen on eavesdropping when the woman suddenly removed her skirt, fanning it like a matador's cape. Nearly turning away out of modesty, the secret agent was slightly glad to say he didn't when he saw what exactly was under all that black cloth. Prosthetics. Not just a bit of wood or plastic strapped to her slender thighs, but stainless steal that molded where her calves should be and moved into a bendable curve so that her weight could shift as if over skin and bone. Piercing through the arc of each curve were razor sharp needle points, clearly cast of something strong as they did not seem at all dull or bent from supporting the glorious woman's weight.

It was safe to say she was a literal piece of work, and Galahad wondered why she felt the need to reveal her deadly form at this time. Though he was not keen on eavesdropping, he had a strong sense that whatever the reason for the two's visit, it was not friendly. He did a mental recall of the people he knew to reside in the flat next doorand worried over the woman and child inside. The only minimal comfort was that the boy had not returned from shopping yet and so was at least partially safe.

“Ok, you know what we're doing?”

The thin wall allowed the strange man and woman's conversation to waft into Harry's apartment and he remained as still as possible, knowing they could hear him as well as he could hear them.

“Get in, kill the boy and wife, kill Dean, cover up the blood.”

“Exactly, now that part's important,” the man pressed, lisp ever present, “Cover up the blood or else I won't be able to go in there and find my poduct. If you get blood on the carpet you have to take the carpet up.”

“You got it.”

If Harry had an inkling of ill tiding before, now it was a full on fever. He hurried as quietly as possible to the coffee table where he had left his Kingsman glasses. Slipping them on and with a tiny touch to a sensor in the right arm, everything before his eyes turned a dim shade of purple. Turning to the side to test that what he wanted had worked, he was relieved to see the red hot human forms of people milling around on the opposite side of the wall. Heat vision; he could see his neighbors perfectly unaware of the danger approaching.

“Merlin?”

“Galahad?”

“I have a situation on my hands,” he explained, heading back towards the window to risk another glance outside. “There's two people outside here with the intention of killing my neighbors.”

“Who are your neighbors?” Merlin asked, the sound of typing crackling through their communication line as Harry approached the wall again, watching the heat outline of the little girl toddle around the back bedroom.

“No body as far as I know, else I don't think I'd have been made to live by them.”

“Fair enough,” Merlin conceded from headquarters, “Give us a mo, using satellites to get an image of your place.” Harry bit back his need to tell Merlin to hurry. The man and woman were still talking outside. “Got it. Are these the people?”

Up in the corner of Harry's right lens, a fuzzy square image showed up of the area just outside his door. It showed the man and woman from the back. Another one popped up a moment later, showing they had shifted their position and were now conversing facing outwards, their heads leaned together. Galahad would have recognized those faces even if the woman's legs weren't casting a glare due to sunlight.

“Yes. Find out who they are and what I should do.” A smashing sound came from outside. His neighbors' door had been kicked and a muffled cry of anger came from inside the flat. “Quickly!” Another smash followed by the sound of a door smacking into the wall. Then screaming from the lady of the house. “Merlin!”

“Galahad, this is Arthur.” Harry paused in his grab for his suit, relieved to have his leader in his ear at this moment. “The two individuals outside your flat are very high profile and you are not to engage them.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“DEAN! DEAN, HE-” Galahad turned to the wall he shared with the loud family just in time to see the heated outline of the woman charge the young man standing in the living room. Because her legs were obviously not large areas of heat, it looked as if she had flown at her target, jumping in a graceful arch above his head and landing behind him. Then there was an odd movement in her heat reading and the man's scream was stopped short. He fell down, his outline quickly growing cool.

“I repeat,” Arthur said calmly, giving no signs he could hear the terrified screams from the mother on the other side of the wall, “Do not engage these people in any.”

“Arthur, they are butchering this family!”

“That's an order, Galahad!”

Harry watched, unable to disobey a direct order as the graceful killer levitated further into the house, eventually coming upon the ball of heat Harry knew must be the neighbor boy's mother. She was screaming wildly for her husband to come and save her and then she stopped as the same peculiar movement of heat from her attacker that had silenced the first bloke silenced her. Harry was glad for his strong stomach and heavy exposure to violence as a chunk of red that could only be the poor mother's head rolled off the rest of it and onto the floor, growing colder every moment.

Harry realized then that the pretty woman was using her legs as weapons to take the household down and was a horrible mixture of impressed as well as sickened. At this moment, her heat outline stood over where the other woman's had just been, tilting her head side to side as she no doubt examined the body.

The heat vision on his glasses didn't make it possible to see where walls blocked regular vision, or how far away the woman's heat source was compared to Dean, but Harry figured there at least had to be one wall between them since at that moment of disturbed silence Dean -who had been cowering in the back room with the baby- attempted to make a run for it. He left the little spot of heat that was his daughter behind. Harry was almost glad to see he did not get far as the woman with the literal killer legs began bounding after him, long, graceful movements easily catching him up. Then with a twisting jump, she leaped next to Dean and he fell to the ground, howling in pain as his ball of heat lost a piece.

“MY HAND! YOU CUT OFF MY FUCKIN' HAND, YOU CUNT!”

“Galahad, I suggest you extract yourself from the area just to be safe.” It was just Merlin in his ear now, but Harry stayed leaning against the wall with both hands, staring in to his neighbor's place. The quivering form of light that was Dean lowered itself down further to the ground as the woman leaned over him.

“Valentine sends his regards.” There was silence then but for a slick piercing sound and then Dean's light faded out. He was dead. Harry watched, somewhat horrified but mostly curious as the woman walked through the apartment then, returning to the spot of every fallen family member. There was no real way for him to tell was she was doing, but it looked almost like she was laying down blankets. The little girl still huddled in the back room. When the woman was done, she returned to the front hallway. “It's safe to come in now,” she called.

The door creaked open, and the little ball of light in the back room streaked out from her hiding place.

“DADDY!”

The woman spun as the man entered the flat and in one swift move, extended her leg in the direction from which the little girl approached, stopping her in her tiny tracks. The indistinguishable coolness of her prosthetic leg made it seem as if there was still room between her and the child, but as the little thing slumped and sagged, her brightness fading out until it was no longer readable on the sensor, Galahad knew she was dead. Stabbed to death by the mysterious woman in black.

“Shit!” he cursed. A quality so unlike himself but so fitting to the situation as he yanked his glasses off, blinking in the sunlight. He felt sick. While he had killed many people in his life, men and women alike, he took a sense of pride in the fact that he had never killed a child even by accident. Recalling how the toddler next door had often wailed in the morning and now no longer would put a coldness in his heart that had not been there for a while.

He could hear Merlin in his ear, trying to talk him down about there being nothing he could have wisely done and how the family had probably been involved with drugs, but he paid him no mind. Instead he paced his small living room area like a caged animal, mourning how his skills had not been put to adequate use today. He could have easily saved that family but instead he had followed orders and watched silently as they were all murdered. And he had the nerve to call himself a Kingsman.

He was so wrapped up in his own self loathing he had completely ignored the noise coming from beyond his flat, blocking out the murderous couple next door and anyone out on the terrace. That was why it came as such a shock to him when someone knocked rather insistently on his door; he had not heard them approach. Dawning his glasses again, heat vision now gone, he approached the door warily. He was still clad in only his bath towel, his torso and hair having dried at some point during the ordeal. His indecentness was more of the reason for his reluctance to open the door than the lingering psychopaths one room over were.

When he looked through the peephole he was met with the absolute last thing he wanted to see. Blue eyed and solemn faced as ever, the neighbor boy stood outside Harry's door, bag of groceries clutched to his chest. His hat was pulled down low and to the side over his pale face, blocking it from view of anyone off to his right. His eyes were red rimmed and his lips trembled as he knocked again.

“Please,” he whispered lowly, clearly begging the man he could not see as a tear tracked down his face, “Please open the door.”

 


	3. Please Open the Door

"Galahad, do not open that door," came Merlin's stern voice through his Kingsman glasses earpiece. Outside Harry's blue door, his young neighbor stood red faced and knocking desperately. One door over, two people stood in the young man's home having just slaughtered his entire family. Harry was hardly torn.

"If I don't open this door," he began calmly and lowly, not wanting the boy or his unwelcome visitors to hear him, "They will take his life."

"And if you do open that door," Merlin countered, " _You_ will have to take his life."

Harry pulled away from the peephole, head cast down in thought. There was no guarantee that what Merlin said was true but there was also no guarantee that it wasn't. If somehow information slipped about what he really did for a living or just how large of an operation it truly was, he would have to kill the boy. He had seen Harry's face over the course of several months; longer than their standard issue amnesia inducing darts could go back. It would erase only a few hours, knocking out the young man's memory of offering to bring back groceries at most. Every other interaction they'd had would remain. The boy knocked again

"Please, _please_." Through the peephole, Galahad watched as he lowered his face, shoulders shaking with fought back sobs. He knocked again, practically punching the door. "Please open the fuckin' door, Harry."

"Harry, think about what you're doing." Merlin's voice was worried, the voice of a concerned friend rather than a fellow agent. He hadn't even bothered to use Harry's codename. Still, what he was asking was to let another person die today and that's not why he had agreed to be a Kingsman. Arthur, who had long since abandoned the line of communication, had told him to not engage the people attacking the family members. He had not, however, said he could not save one that came to him for help.

"I have thought about it," he assured Merlin as he unlocked the door.

* * *

 

The trip to the grocery had been a time for Eggsy to reflect. Nose now clean of blood thanks to Harry's handkerchief, he'd walked with his chin up and shoulders back, very nearly swaggering. It wasn't often that something happened that left him feeling confidant enough to stride rather than shuffle through his neighborhood. Usually the promise of running into Dean's lackeys sucked out any sort of enthusiasm he had for leaving the house, but today had been different. Today, yeah, he had been running an errand, but it was an errand for _Harry_.

Because while he'd had every intention of picking up food for his baby sister and maybe something he liked but knew Dean and rotten Rotty couldn't stand, the main reason he had been so unusually excited to go to the store was because he would be picking something up for his fit neighbor. It was a favor which of course would require payback in some form and as he'd browsed through the cartons of milk, he'd thought of some of the ways he would like to take his payment. A quart of 2% milk had to be worth at least a handy, right?

He'd left the store with a surprisingly polite nod to the clerk who had checked him out. She was cute and young and rung him up often, usually having to fight off his crass advances with a series of eye rolls. But today she'd been pleasantly surprised if not suspicious when he had simply paid for his haul, wished her a pleasant day and left, practically running back the way he had come. Indeed, anyone that had encountered Eggsy in that blissful half hour he was out shopping would have been shocked by the young man they met. Happy, they would have said. Hopeful.

Now, on his way up the stairs to his flat, Eggsy debated which flat to stop at first. With little debate he decided on Harry's. Because all the shopping had been placed in one large paper bag and _obviously_ he would have to step inside for just a mo so that he could extract Harry's quart of 2% for him. And then like the gentlemen he was, Harry would offer him a drink or maybe something a bit more to show his extreme gratitude over the trouble Eggsy had gone through to make sure he was getting his appropriate daily dairy intake.

"Yeah, I've got some dairy for him," Eggsy murmured to himself, trying to flex the tension out of his neck as he reached his landing and began to fish around in his pocket for his flat key. Maybe playing like he had lost it would buy him more time with Harry.

As he approached the end of the terrace, he was surprised how quiet it was. The place was always noisy, the poverty in the area usually meaning at least one family or another was fighting. Half the time it was his own so he really was shocked when he didn't hear Dean shouting his everyday insults as soon as he cleared the stairs. When he was just a few feet away from his own door, he noticed for the first time that it was hanging slightly ajar, the spot just above the handle looking like it had been kicked in as well as hacked at.

Confusion, fear, and anger flooded through him. As if they didn't have enough fucking problems without some jackass thinking their's was a good home to hit for drug money. He hurried up to the busted door, hand outstretched to push it open and mouth open to call out to his mum. Right before skin touched wood he heard the sound of violent retching, someone getting ready to heave up a whole lung and he drew back because it didn't sound like anyone he knew.

"Hey, hey," soothed a female voice from behind the door, "Deep breaths, Valentine. It's fine."

"No!" Another voice, a man's this time with a heavy lisp. It came sounding equal parts terrified and furious. Eggsy hugged his groceries. "No, it is not fine! You killed her! You killed that little girl!"

Eggsy got tunnel vision. The world was suddenly shifting and everything he could see in the tiny prick of his vision that wasn't blackness looked like it was made of light. Had the blood in his ears not been creating noise like a tornado full of lawn chairs, Eggsy Unwin was absolutely positive he would have fainted right there and left himself a sitting duck for whoever was in there.

Abby was dead. Abby was dead. Abby was dead. His Abigail, his little sister who wasn't even three years old yet was dead and he hadn't been there. He should have been home looking out for her, protecting her, but instead he'd been gone picking up milk. Knots formed in his gut and he feared he was about to join the man inside who had just puked. He felt fucking sick. He leaned against the wall, shaking and tears already making tracks down his face.

"Why did you do that?!"

"You asked me to!"

"No, I said kill Dean his wife and his son. Not his two year old!"

Eggsy bit back a sob. His mum was dead too.

"Well, I wasn't expecting her to run out like that. She surprised me."

"Ugh, forget it," the man snarled, "Toss the house, find the dope. I gotta get outta here and get some fresh air."

Eggsy panicked. The man had said he wanted Dean, his wife, and his son dead. Hard feelings and tough words aside, he was legally Dean's son and that means he would be dead right now too if he hadn't left to get Harry's milk. If he tried to leave now it'd be obvious he had been near the door and what's more, that he hadn't just left the next one. If he just stood there like a fucking twat, it would be obvious he'd been listening. His mind raced, knowing he had to move like he'd just arrived but not to this place.

As he heard the woman stop her accomplice before he could reach the slightly open door, he rushed across the opening, reaching up with trembling fingers to yank the lip of his hat down, angling it over his face in a desperate attempt to conceal himself. He moved on shaking legs to stand before Harry's door. He knocked, trying not to pound too loudly and draw out Dean's employers. His breath was coming short and ragged, wanting to cry. Harry didn't answer.

"Ah, fuck," he keened, teeth grinding as he tried to hold it together. There was no way Harry wasn't home at this moment when he most needed him to be. He was just dragging ass, he had to be. Eggsy knocked again. "Please," he begged, hoping the man would somehow hear him and rush to his aid. It brought him no pleasure to think of the older man like this because he was terrified and ashamed and desperate. "Please open the door."

He had a good idea who was skulking around his flat at this moment and while usually he was quick to provoke into fights, he had no desire to face the man he had seen covertly threatening Dean the day before. And he reasoned sadly that the woman with him was clearly armed if she had managed to kill Dean, Rottweiler, his mum, and Abigail all by herself. He wondered how she'd done it. Had she shot them? Stabbed them? Had it been quick? Had they screamed? The silence on the terrace was more obvious and clear now; people were too afraid to make a sound. Eggsy knocked again.

"Please, _please_ ," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut and nose dripping, "Please open the fuckin' door, Harry."

The posh man that lived in the flat next to his finally heard Eggsy's pleading, because just as his door began to creak open, the lock on Harry's gave and Eggsy held back a cry of relief. The man opened the door in his glasses and a towel and before Eggsy could push in to hide himself, Harry had already reached out and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. He yanked him inside and shut the door without a word, repositioning himself at the peephole. Eggsy, who had stumbled over the threshold, found himself turning around in the center of his neighbors flat; his first visit here. Then panic set in again.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, whole body quavering as he looked blindly for somewhere to sit. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"I think silence would be the safest route at this moment," Harry whispered.

Eggsy made a disbelieving noise in the back of is throat, wondering how this bloke expected him to be silent when his mother and sister were lying dead on the other side of the wall, but that thought alone did manage to sink him into a morbid silence. Turning his head towards the wall Harry shared with them, he imagined if he stared long enough or squinted hard enough, he could see through it to the other side. See the bitch that had killed Abigail tossing the flat like the man had asked her to. He shivered in rage.

A few minutes of silence passed and in that time Harry never left the peephole and Eggsy never asked him what he saw. He was too deep in thought, imagining the last interactions he'd had with everyone in the flat. None too good besides when he had kissed Abigail goodbye, not bothering to say he loved her and would see her later because it'd seemed like a given and she wouldn't have understood the words anyway. He wished now that he had said those things.

"They're leaving."

Eggsy picked his head up at that, eyes sore from the tears that had yet to stop coming. He wasn't one of those people that thought it was weird for guys to cry, especially in tough times, but he was a little embarrassed for Harry to see him like this. He wiped futilely at his face as the man turned to him, one hand hitching up the towel slung around his hips and the other falling limp at his side. He looked awkward.

"I'm Harry."

* * *

 

"I'm Gary."

Harry tilted his head, not having expected such a general name from this, in his opinion, queerly dressed young man. Or that it would rhyme with his own. At some point in his head he had imagined his neighbor having some form of unique or exotic sounding name. Jedidiah, Taron, Ignacious; something like that. Looking at him now, small and broken, hugging the grocery bag and sinking further into the couch Harry wasn't even positive he knew he was sitting on, he still did not look like a Gary. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch.

"You don't look like a Gary," he vocalized, knowing it was probably a strange thing to point out at a time like this, but he was pleasantly surprised to observe the young man's head pick up, a small smirk gracing his mouth for a moment.

"Yeah, well my..."he trailed off, eyes wandering to to the wall and Harry wondered all of what he had seen before coming to his door. "My mum always called me Eggsy."

"Eggsy," Harry tested the name out, eyes never leaving his guest as his head nodded minutely, wet eyes still squinting at the wall. "That's much better." The boy turned to him, blue eyes pained. Harry cleared his throat, readjusting his towel, feeling totally indecent but not willing to leave the boy alone while he changed. "I'm sorry about your father and mother."

"Dean wasn't my father," Eggsy corrected immediately, jaw looking tight as he ground his teeth together, whole body trembling. "Just some git my mum married a few years back. I'd have killed him myself one of these days, these aresholes just saved me the trouble." His breathing hitched, but steadied. "And he made her bloody miserable so...at least she's in a better place now."

It was a shocking and very ungentlemanly thing to say. Studying him carefully though, Harry could see Eggsy meant every word of it. He had hated the man that lived with him and would rather see his mother dead than involved with him any further. It was both parts selfish and selfless, allowing him to accept the death of the woman who had birthed him with only slightly more grace. His face was still pained though.

"Your brother then-"

"Rot wasn't my fuckin' brother." This statement was far more adamant and spiteful than the last, the blue eyed boy glaring at Harry. "He was just one of Dean's whippin' boys and a bloody pain in my arse. I'm glad he's dead."

Still, more ungodly things to say in the face of death, but Harry allowed Eggsy these outbursts, not feeling in any position to tell him how to respect the dead people Harry himself could have saved. It was still strange, however, to hear such hateful things coming out of such a sad face and Harry tilted his head at the young man, eyes curious behind his glasses,

"If you truly feel this way," he began evenly, not wanting to cause his guest anymore distress, "If you couldn't stand them...then why are you crying?"

His crying being pointed out clearly caused Eggsy some amount of embarrassment, because his face grew pink and his eyes dropped down into the grocery bag. The milk was probably warm by now. The somber faced youth wiped roughly at his cheeks, his red nose taking a great sniff as he glanced up at Harry.

"Because those fuckers killed my sister," he answered at last, voice trembling. Harry recalled the little ball of light that had been snuffed out by the woman on the prosthetic legs. Eggsy huffed out a tiny sob. "Who the shit does that?! She was two years old, what the fuck did she do to anyone?!"

The young man began to cry in earnest and Harry floundered for what to do. It had been some time since he lost any close family since he tended to distance himself from them, but it didn't take a highly trained agency spy to gather that Eggsy needed comfort. He scooted closer hesitantly, glad he had switched off his glasses camera and communication as he'd opened the door. When he drew close enough to the younger man, he took the paper bag from him, setting it on the ground near his own bare feet.

"It's perfectly natural to be upset," he said, trying to make his voice sound soothing as he raised a cautious arm around Eggsy's shoulders. He needn't have worried if his comforting technique was up to par, however, since Eggsy immediately turned into him, his head searching for a rest on the juncture between Harry's neck and shoulder, the rim of his hat pushing near off his head. He gave a few heaving sobs, the pause between each one sounding as if he was trying to gather himself and Harry just stroked his back, bring his free hand up to grasp the boy's arm. "It's going to be alright Eggsy."

Minutes passed and eventually the fully dressed male was able to compose himself, if only slightly. His breathing evened out but for a few hitches here and there and his pained cries subsided. He kept his head pressed near to Harry's chest area. At one point his hands had fallen into the older man's towel covered lap and Harry tried not to show his discomfort with their position.

"I'm a fuckin' bitch," Eggsy breathed eventually, the words muffled as they brushed across Harry's skin. "I shoulda gone in there. Shoulda fought them."

"You'd almost certainly haved shared your family's fate," Harry informed, for one moment feeling bold enough to reach up and brush down the back of his neighbor's neck. He thought better of the action though, and dropped his hand back down before it could follow through.

"Maybe I should share their fate," Eggsy sniffed, repositioning so that it was easier for him to breathe. "Them people were lookin' for me to." Here Harry pushed him away slightly, keeping his hands on his shoulders so that he may look down into his puffy eyes.

"You must never think that, Eggsy," he said firmly, keeping his face still sympathetic but stern, "To waste life is never the answer."

He felt like a sham saying this after standing by as his neighbors were dispatched, but it was an idea he had carried close to his heart for the better part of his life ever since he was younger even than what he imagined Eggsy was. He hated the fact that sometimes innocents had to die. He hated the fact that sometimes they wanted to die and followed through on the desire themselves even more. A waste of life was the biggest waste of all.

He was prepared to voice these words of wisdom to Eggsy but he noticed that the boy's eyes were glassy. Not far off or unfocused, but instead hyperfocused on his own, as if he were trying to get a glimpse of Harry's very soul through his lenses. His pink lips were parted slightly and his weight rested against Harry's hands.

"Cute glasses," he breathed.

Harry jumped back, hands dropping as if burned. The fact that Eggsy had not fallen face down into his lap when Harry's hands had left proved he had been intentionally pushing into them and was able to sit up in time when he noticed Harry moving away. He still stared after the older man with that strange look, breathing almost totally normal now though his face still bore the battle scars of a good cry. Harry stood from the couch when those blue eyes glanced at his towel. He cleared his throat.

He knew that look. It was the look of someone desperate and sad who figured they could plug up their inner wounds with a person, if only for a night. He himself had dawned that look at certain moments in his life, but he had never acted on his grief driven impulses like he felt Eggsy was willing to. He was just in mourning, his behavior could not be fostered.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" Eggsy shook his head. "No family, friends that could take you in?" Another shake of the head. His eyes had not lost that prowling quality. If anything they looked sharper now as the boy unabashedly checked Harry head to toe. The older man missed his suit.

"The only family I have's in Wales, and I've no money to get there."

Harry cursed his cover as a tailor because he could easily afford a ticket to Wales and send the boy on his way, but that would raise suspicions. Still, the idea of him staying here was even worse. And what's more Harry wouldn't be staying here long; possibly not even the night! Fear of repercussions aside, eventually someone would bring attention to the four dead bodies rotting next door and then police would come and news reporters asking questions and Harry didn't have the time nor the patience for all that.

"Besides," Eggsy broke into his line of thoughts. Harry turned back to the boy, glad to have been free of his gaze for at least a moment. "Them people wanted to kill me too and soon enough they'll realize they haven't." Harry would have argued this, but it made some sense. Eggsy had seen these people's faces on the terrace the day before. Had heard the threat the black man had lain down. And his picture was no doubt somewhere in the flat they had searched through so it would only be a matter of time before it became known that Dean's step-son was still alive. "If you put me out I'll be dead by tonight." Harry was once again staring into twin blue pools. "And I don't wanna die tonight."

Harry sighed heavily, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes because misplaced advances aside, this boy had just suffered a tragic loss and needed to be treated delicately if only for a time. With a quick dip of his head, Harry excused himself to his room with the excuse of needing to finally put on some clothes. Eggsy looked less than pleased to see him go, but Harry hurried from the room regardless, not wanting to linger on the edge of the conversation Eggsy had just prompted. Once he was shut into his own bedroom, the door locked behind him, he reactivated his glasses.

"Merlin, I need you to find me a hotel to stay in for a while."

"What?!"

* * *

 

Eggsy watched Harry go, shutting himself into his bedroom to change, and hoped he wasn't going to hop through some back window and leave him in the rough. The posh man had been strangely accommodating up to this point and Eggsy was surprised to find himself feeling just slightly better. Or at least he wasn't sobbing like an infant anymore which had been mortifying to say the least and done nothing but given him a headache, a sore nose, and puffy eyes. Still it had been almost nice to feel Harry comforting him in that moment and on any other day previous to this one, he would have gone for it, no questions asked. As it were, the thought of his mix-matched family dead on the other side of the wall did a bit to kill the mood, but the sadness he felt deep down also craved something to quell it.

He had experienced the need for sex in times of sadness and knew others had the urge to. Touchy-feely as it sounded, it was just a way to feel appreciated and cared for and maybe even loved at a time when you needed it most. Eggsy definitely needed all those things right now and though he knew he couldn't fuck his way to closure, he could at least distract himself until the whole thing got easier to bare.

But Harry had backed away, obviously picking up on Eggsy's fluctuating emotions and excused himself. Eggsy hadn't lied when he said he had no where to go and feared for his life, but he knew he was old enough at this point that he could go stay in a hotel for a while alone. But he wanted to stay with Harry. Not just for a comfort shag, but because he was a familiar, kind, and after today a _safe_ face. Eggsy reveled that he needed that possibly even more than he needed to feel wanted right now. No, he had to make Harry keep him.

Alone in the living room, he looked around trying to get a feel for his reluctant savior. The place was just as small and dingy as his own flat, but it was tidy. Not a book out of place it would appear. The only thing that seemed like it had been set down thoughtlessly besides himself and his groceries was a stuffed dog on the chair beneath the front window. The plaque beneath it read 'Mr. Pickles' and Eggsy found himself both amused and disturbed by the thing. Harry must have really loved his dog.

He stood from the couch, ready to go over and give Mr. Pickles a good rub on the nose, and accidentally knocked over the grocery bag. Most of the things just toppled out and settled immediately, the milk landing on one of its four flat sides. A jar of peanut butter he had grabbed for Abby though slipped out and rolled under the couch. Eggsy cursed, dropping to his knees and sticking a hand under the bit of furniture. His hope was to either grab the jar, or at least knock it through clear to the other side, but his hand landed on something else first. He pulled it out.

Eggsy wouldn't say he knew much, if anything, about guns, but he could tell the giant sniper riffle was in pieces. The shiny black metal glinted in the light coming in from the window and Eggsy's heart fell into his stomach. It was heavy. Heavier than you'd suspect a carrying weapon would be and so he set it on the couch, sitting back on his legs, peanut butter totally forgotten. Harry chose this moment to come out of his bedroom, looking posh as ever in slacks and a white button-up. He saw the gun and turned to Eggsy, eyes wide as his hand twitched towards his watch. Eggsy squinted at him.

"Who _are_ you?"

 


	4. Valentine

Richmond Valentine was not a penny pinching man, nor was he a man to make mountains out of mole hills. However, 10,000 American dollars worth of cocaine was not just pennies, and a lowly drug pusher thinking he could jip Valentine was no mole hill. Now, could he get by without that money? Of course. He spent more on a good meal when the mood struck him. What he couldn't get by with was people thinking that he was a person that could be fucked over.

No, Richmond Valentine had worked too long and too hard building himself of as a successful, legit business man as well as down low drug manufacturer to let the likes of Dean Bell and his money hungry little gang of British trash rip him off. He felt his previous warning had been well received but when noon had rolled around on judgement day and Dean still hadn't delivered him anything he could use, he had been forced to send it Gazelle. It was a shame the visit had to end with the entire family being killed. Valentine hated blood after all.

"Toss the house, find the dope. I gotta get outta here and get some fresh air."

“Valentine, wait.”

Valentine sighed deeply, his stomach turning as the heavy smell like pennies grew stronger. He had very nearly lost his lunch when right as he had entered the flat, Gazelle had stabbed the young toddler through the forehead. He had absolutely no stomach for blood, which was why all the other bodies were covered, but given much longer to sit he knew the harsh liquid would begin to seep through the sheets. And the little girl still wasn't covered.

“What?”

Next door someone began to knock at the neighbor's.

His Gazelle, his right hand woman, occasional lover, and full time body guard was sporting her usual unimpressed look, thick lips pursed beneath her strong nose. If she had been put out by needing to kill everyone in the flat, it didn't show on her flawless appearance, not a single hair out of place on her head. With one perfectly manicured finger she pointed to a framed picture hanging from the wall.

It showed a woman. Pretty despite the heavy make-up she wore because her smile was so bright. Held in her arms was the little girl, toothless mouth opened wide in a laugh, curly head squished against her mother's cheek. On the left of the picture was a young man, probably barely in his early twenties, hat pulled cockishly to the side and hand throwing up a peace sign. He had his arm around his mother and the baby in a side-armed hug. They all three had the same eyes.

Valentine shrugged. The person one door over knocked again

“Yeah, it's Dean's wife and kids, so?”

Gazelle was beginning to look as concerned as someone that had eyes that strongly resembled a shark's could. She plucked the framed photo off the wall, stepping around Dean's covered body as she came to stand beside Valentine, the two of them shoulder to shoulder hunched over the picture. She stuck a finger in the boy's face.

“He's not here.”

Richmond Valentine, eccentric billionaire and underground drug king pin looked around the flat, barely managing to swallow bile as his eyes flitted over the little girl again. Besides her he counted three sheets lain down. So four bodies total. He pointed this out to his henchwoman, but she shook her head, leaping gracefully into the living room area and grabbing the edge of the sheet there. He cringed, but was relieved when she only pulled the fabric back enough to reveal the young man's face. He stepped over and look down at him.

And she was right. This wasn't Dean's son. Even if their facial structure had not been completely different, he would have been able to tell from the eyes. This guy's eyes were a dull brown color while the boy in the picture had his mother's eyes; his sister's eyes. The ocean blue that winked out at him from the picture were unmistakable.

Valentine smashed the frame.

“God damn it! Where is he?”

“I-I don't know,” Gazelle admitted, hands folded meekly as Valentine groaned and headed towards the front door. Yanking it open and sticking his head out, he found that whoever had been knocking at the neighbor's was now gone and he highly doubted the boy had just picked the wrong flat. He slammed the broken door shut again.

“Find the dope,” he ordered, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his mouth, spittle having dribbled out in his frantic rage. “Then I want all eyes back home looking for this kid. I want him found.”

“Yes, Valentine.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to follow the plot line of "Leon: The Professional" with Kingsman attributes, so if you've seen that movie, you know where this is going. If you haven't, I highly recommend it. For those of you that have seen it, yes, Eggsy is Matilda.


End file.
